Redeem Yourself
by Iolus
Summary: After being rescued from the Island, Jack is having trouble coping with what he's done, and ultimately, what it has done to him. Rated T for violence.


**Just a short ending to Lord of the Flies focused on Jack**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Lord of the Flies**

Jack stood on the deck of the naval ship, staring out at the bleak island in the distance. The fire that he had started to trap Ralph had decimated the island and erased all evidence of its former owners. He stared at it with a mixture of love and disgust, his eyes watering with the salty wind off the waves of the sea. His unruly red hair had been cut and tamed, and his sunburned back was now covered with a sailors old shirt. It hung three sizes too large on him, and almost covered the tattered black knickers that were held up with a piece of rope. One of his hands was gripping the railing tightly, turning the knuckles white, and the other was shading his eyes against the afternoon sun. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, trying hard not to be sick against the rocking and rolling of the ship.

Thrice Roger had approached him in this state; casually, and jokingly, but there was a hint of anger beneath his words. "We could take the ship." He said the third time. "Go anywhere we wanted. Who would stop us? Steal up while they're asleep, send them off in a lifeboat-" He glanced sideways at Jack, and Jack caught a glimpse of the boy he had been on the island. "After all, they haven't been fighting for survival on an island, have they? No." He leaned back on his elbows against the railing, still unsatisfied that Jack hadn't answered. "You know," He mused, "I was almost upset when we ran into that officer on the beach. We were so close to becoming rulers on the island, nothing could have been in our way. Ultimate power awaited us." He grinned deliriously, maniacally. Jack remained taciturn, his eyes kept on the island.

Roger, uneasy about the silence of his former leader, spoke more loosely, more hurried. "Like when we killed the dumb brute of a boy, Piggy. Or that no-good, fainting boy, Simon. I've never seen so much blood, the big-"

"Stop!" Jack cried. His fists were balled, and his arms were strained. Tears were running down his face, and his teeth were clenched in a mad sort of grimace.

"Stop it! D'you hear? It never happened! None of it! If-If I hear it again, I'll- I'll-" He searched wildly around for a word that could not be found. He grabbed his knife and stabbed it into the polished wood of the railing, capturing Rogers sleeve and trapping it to the side of the ship. Terrified, Roger yanked his shirt out of its grip, and ran out of sight down the deck, most likely telling the other boys about the incident.

Jack was not approached again. Ralph often gave him wary and angry, yet sympathetic glances as he passed, But he always kept his distance. Always gave Jack a wide berth, one that screamed betrayal, hurt, and murder. "Bloody fool." Jack thought bitterly. "I don't want pity."

"Then what do you want," came a voice inside his head, one he had not listened to in a long time, "besides the chance to be forgiven by your friends and to start over?"

"I don't need pity. No one pities me. I don't need forgiveness. Who forgives the murderer? I may be a criminal, waiting for my sentance, but who judges the judge that judges me?" Even as he whispered the words, he knew that he couldn't convince himself of his innocence. "Maybe I can plead insanity." He muttered. He took the knife out of the railing, and hurled it out into the air. It fell for an eternity, before finally being swallowed by the great, blue, sea.

"But you enjoyed it, didn't you?" The voice said again. "Killing those pigs, the death of Piggy, torturing Sam and Eric, and hunting down Ralph." The voice said no more, it let its words sink in for a moment.

"No one can prove my thoughts. Anyway, I didn't enjoy it, I felt the need to be a figure. A person who all would fear, but revere. I wanted to be the idea of me, how I was portrayed in others imaginations, their nightmares. I guess I got caught up in it, forgot the blur between my dreams and reality. My fears and reality." He glanced around him, almost afraid that anyone would see him talking to himself. The other boys were down below, all talking together, almost forgetting what they had been willing to do earlier, lost in their bliss of finally being rescued. Ralph had once again become the leader, all the others were non-argumentive about it and followed his lead. Roger was the only loner in the crowd, still caught up in his island craze, and was viewed as a madman, who only Jack was able to talk to without getting attacked or cursed at. The other boys were gay and gregarious though, they were finally headed home. They had clean clothes, soap to bathe with, and manageable hair. Percival Wemys Madison was happily repeating his address, and although he could not remember the exact street upon which he lived, or his phone number, he was repeating the half that he did know over and over, trying to remember more.

Jack looked from the cabins where the boys and a few sailors were chatting, back towards the island. "Are you sorry?" the voice asked.

Jack was taken aback. One does not ask a murderer if he is sorry about the person he just killed, or the life he has stolen. One asks if he is sorry that he is going to jail. But Jack thought about the question. Was he sorry? He supposed. Nothing seemed altogether too clear for him. It was as if he was watching his own actions from another person, as if he had not committed those henious crimes. He thought he might be sorry. His foggy mind cleared a little, though the harder he thought about it, the more distant it appeared to him. Was it he who killed those boys? He suddenly had a vision of screaming children, a flashing, striking light, and kicking and wailing, hair-pulling, the tearing of flesh, and the feel of slippery blood between his fingers. Simon's bloody face peered up at him within the seconds of bright light, his mouth agape and blood trailing down his cheek and soaking his shirt. He thought for one horrifying moment that Simon recognized him, and he was afraid, but he did not know of what. But even with his fear, he did not cease his killing frenzy until the body was still.

Now in his unclear mind, he was the boy being attacked, and he was staring up at Ralph's face that was splattered with his blood. Ralph grinned, a grin worthy of Jack himself, and tore the flesh of his stomach with a knife, until the sand ran red. Then he motioned to someone behind him. Jack looked past Ralph, and saw Piggy, grinning a skeleton grin, his hand on the lever holding back a giant rock. Ralph motioned again, and the skeleton of Piggy released the rock. As it crashed towards him, Jack started to scream, and he screamed and screamed and screamed until it turned into the horrified squealing of a pig, trapped in a ring of hunters, who were jabbing it with their spears, and stabbing at him, over, and over, and over. He looked wildly around for some escape, and saw a pair of terrified eyes in the brush, watching every moment, the eyes of a wise, savior of a boy. Jack called out for Simon, but Simon turned and ran.

Now Jack was running through the undergrowth, ululations surrounding him, racing for his life. A fire was crackling behind him, voices were shrieking "Jack! Jack!" and "There he is! Kill him!". The fire was getting closer, flaming wolves lapping at his heels, closer, closer, closer...

Jack awoke from his dream in a cold sweat. Shaking, and sobbing, he held himself up and clenched his hands in his hair. The island was no longer in sight, and the evening sun was setting.

"I understand. I understand. I am sorry. I'm sorry." He wept for his soul, he wept for redemption. He wept for his pain, their pain. That which he had caused.

"You wish to fully free yourself from these demons? You wish to become forgiven? You know what you must do." The voice told him. Jack nodded, still shaking and chattering, though it was not cold out. Gooseflesh covered every inch of his skin. "I know what I must do." He repeated mechanically. He glanced back at the lights in the cabin, and towards the open sea. He saw a ghostly figure of Simon, dressed in a robe, and with a halo around his head. Jack stared at it, as if it was a lifeline. "Tell them. That I'm sorry. Will you?" Jack said numbly. He thought he saw the vision of Simon nod. Keeping his eyes on Simon, his last salvation, Jack climbed the railing of the ship. He took a deep breath, and jumped.

Jack sank down, down, down. His eyes were shut tightly, and his mouth was closed, keeping in the last precious drops of oxygen. In those last few seconds, he felt strangely calm and exhilarated. He knew that he would be alright. That he would not be afraid anymore. He expelled the last of his life in one quick breath, and as the water filled his lungs, Jack Merridew smiled.

**THE END**

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